
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 


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9 




Mrs. Delire’s 

Euchre Party 


AND OTHER TALES 


by y 

EVELYN SNEAD BARNETT 



yv\ 


Fran 

The Editor Publishing Co. 














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.ft 2 


C-<? -a 




Copyright, 1895, 


By Evelyn Snead Barnett 

































































CONTENTS 


«?* 


Mrs. Delire’s Euchre Party, . 
A Wedding and a Half, 

Mkdje, . . . . ■ 

The Bursting of the Chrysalis, 















Mrs. Delire’s Euchrf. Party. 


TT LTHOUGH her fiance had in a measure 
(jfjM prepared her, when Louise went to the 
station to meet Margaret Roy, her future 
sister-in-law, she was surprised at the beauty of 
the dignified girl who greeted her. 

Had it not been for an indefinite something 
reminding one of the brother she never would 
have recognized her guest from Walter’s descrip- 
tion ; although that fortunate young man thought he 
was being most explicit when he wrote : u Tall, red- 
dish brown hair, blue grey eyes and a good figure/’ 
Louise’s own style being piquant, the stranger’s 
stateliness awed her somewhat and she thought 
with dismay that she could never be on terms of 
sisterly intimacy with so perfect a piece of flesh 
and blood. To tell the truth the cold Northern 


6 


manner of the visitor did not encourage advances. 

But if Margaret was by nature somewhat re- 
served with strangers, it was more from natural shy- 
ness than indifference and when this wore off her real 
disposition showed itself in an unvarying considera- 
tion for the rights of others and a sympathetic 
appreciation of all phases of character. 

Louise was not long in discovering these traits 
and the first strangeness conquered, her awe, 
changed to friendship, her friendship to affection 
and to this was soon added passionate adoration. 
Walter’s most sanguine hopes were to be realized 
— his idolized sister would prove a dear companion 
to his future wife and the harmony of his home 
unthreatened. 

As for Margaret herself, from the first day of 
her arrival she was interested. Everything in this 
Southern life was new to her ; the manners, the 
language, the very food she ate proving a never- 
failing source of wonderment. 

The house, open at all hours, received a constant 
stream of visitors. Balls, receptions, lunches and 
dinners occupied the time. The newcomer, in 
spite of her distant manner became a social success 
and Louise’s delight and pride were unbounded. 


7 


Every mail brought invitations of some sort. 
One of these deserves mention, for, being the first 
of the kind she had ever received, it impressed 
Margaret strongly. 

Louise handed her a tiny envelope and on 
opening it she found a lady’s engraved visiting card 
upon which was written : 


Compliments of the A. U. R Club, 
for Tuesday , fanuary 10th, 2:30 P. M. 


Mrs. Francis Delire. 


Euchre. 


2 Fourth Ave. 


“ We have no engagement for Tuesday,” said 
Louise, “ we must go to this.” 

“ Cards, isn’t it?” asked Margaret. 

“ Progressive Euchre. It is sure to be a nice 
one for Mrs. Delire always entertains beautifully.” 

“But I never saw the game in my life — have 
barely heard of it,” protested Margaret. 

“ What a girl ! Don’t you know plain euchre ? ” 
“ Of course I do, but — ” 


“Well this is exactly the same thing, only 
forty or more play instead of four and the winners 
get prizes. There are some other points but I'll 
post you before you go/’ 

“ I really do not play well enough ; I fear I 
may make mistakes and mortify you.” 

“ No you won't ; I’ll keep an eye on you and 
help you all I can.” 

“ Go without me ; please do. Let me decline.” 

“ I will not hear of such a thing. It will be a 
new experience for you and you just have to go.” 
So she wrote acceptances for both. 

Tuesday came and with it a disappointment. 
Louise's aunt was suddenly taken ill and Mrs. 
Steele went to her sister's bedside leaving ’her 
daughter home to keep peace between two tribes of 
savages — her own and the sick woman's. 

“ You will be obliged to go to the P. E. 
alone,” said the bride-elect regretfully. 

Margaret looked aghast. “ Impossible ! I 
should die of embarrassment.” 

“ Madge, you are, without doubt, the biggest 
gump ! What is there to embarrass you ? ” 

“ I am such a stranger.” 

“You’ll know everybody there or nearly. It 
is bad enough for me to fail at the eleventh hour. 


9 


but two would put our hostess to the greatest 
inconvenience.” 

“ If you really think so ? ” 

“ I do ; so don’t argue the matter. There is no 
lielp for it.” 

And Margaret with a sigh consented to the 
decree. 

As the weather was fine she refused to take the 
carriage saying Louise could send for her ; so giv- 
ing herself plenty of time she started forth looking 
very stylish and chic. 

Now our Margaret, as we have before hinted, 
was timid and shy about many things — most of 
them trifles. As she approached Mrs. D61ire*s 
residence, some of those painful sensations known 
only to different persons, assailed and overpowered 
her, suggesting disagreeable possibilities. 

Suppose she were too early ? Visions of a 
bored hostess having to entertain her until the 
other guests arrived arose before her. Southerners 
were not very prompt and it had taken much less 
time to reach the house than she had thought 
possible. 

She gazed at the number above the door, then 
at the house. There was nothing suggestive of 
approaching festivity. Not a carriage in sight, 


10 


every window closed tight and the shades drawn 
to the bottom of the sills. 

There must be some mistake ! Could she have 
erred in the date ? She decided to walk a block 
further to think it over. 

Finally as she repassed her destination she 
screwed up her courage, entered the gate and 
started to ring the bell. 

Hardly had her finger touched the button 
when the door was thrown open by a most stylish 
colored individual, disclosing a blaze of light and 
gorgeously furnished rooms from which came the 
sound of much high-pitched chattering, borne on a 
blast of hot air heavy with the scent of flowers and 
perfumes. 

The hostess rushed out in a flurry of dangling 
jet and breezy chiffon . 

“ At last ! ” she exclaimed, and the words did 
not add to Margaret’s composure. “ I began to 
fear that you, too, had deserted me — shall I send 
your wraps up for you ? — the club is prompt and 
we are just beginning to play — I was going to take 
your place until you arrived.” She spoke rapidly 
as if time were precious and, not waiting for 
replies divested Margaret of her furs and heavy 
wrap, thrust a pasteboard card with a depending 


11 


blue tassel into her hand, added an ornate lace pin 
with which to attach it, and before that deliberate 
young person could recover from her bewilderment, 
she found herself being led to a table at which 
there were three ladies seated and a hand of five 
cards lying face downwards at a vacant place. 

Here by invitation Margaret seated herself and 
began leisurely to remove her gloves. 

Her partner she had met before — a sweet, gentle 
girl with hardly a word to say for herself. The 
other two ladies were introduced and she was about 
to exchange some of the polite nothings of society 
with them, when — 

“ Everybody’s playing,” said the sweet, gentle 
one feverishly. “ It’s your turn — heart’s led.” 

As for some unexplained reason the young per- 
son appeared to be in somewhat of a hurry, Mar- 
garet accommodatingly hastened to lay down a 
heart. 

Her partner fell back with a gesture of despair. 

“ You have put your right bower on my left and 
I took it up ! Have you no other trump?” She 
fairly screamed.* 

Margaret had the eight and nine of hearts and 
had played the knave because the ten had been 
played by her right-hand adversary and, a low 


12 


heart haying been led from the left, was apparently 
the highest card on the table. 

“ You did not tell me that hearts were trumps,” 
she said apologetically. “ I should have inquired 
before playing. It was immensely stupid of me — 
I am very sorry I — ” 

“ All right — such things will happen — play on 
— t’chore lead.” 

Margaret studied awhile over her hand and 
then started to lead the nine of hearts but changed 
her mind and concluded to play the ace of dia- 
monds. She put it down slowly and in a hesitating 
manner. 

The card had barely left her hand before three 
others were on it, the trick turned and a new lead 
made. 

“ You must let me get my breath,” she gasped. 
“ It is new to me ; I have never played this way 
before.” 

The smiles were polite and pitying. 

“ Indeed ! Then it must be somewhat confus- 
ing.” 

“ It is, very,” she replied frankly. “ I fear I 
shall prove a poor partner.” (Why had Louise 
omitted to tell her that haste was the chief feature 
of the game !) 


13 


“ Oh no you won’t ! you’ll get used to it after a 
little. Take your time ; we will play more slowly.” 

This speaker and her partner were two points 
ahead. 

Thinking it good advice, Margaret did take her 
time and her impatient vis-a-vis writhed and wrig- 
gled in her chair. 

Presently a bell tapped. 

Half of Pandemonium arose and moved forward 
one table, Margaret’s partner changed her seat with 
suspicious alacrity, while Margaret herself, for the 
first time, looked around. 

A set of handsomer women could hardly be 
imagined. Many of them were young matrons 
and there were more smart gowns and expensive 
millinery than she had ever seen before. Every 
hand was loaded and flashing with beautiful rings ; 
ribbons streamed and laces fell in ample folds; 
flowers nodded and plumes waved. Many of the 
guests she had met and with some she had ex- 
changed visits, but where, oh where, were the former 
easy manners and soft voices of these society dames? 
Where the much-admired and charming languor 
of the Sunny South? 

Two score and ten women were all talking at 
once and each trying to be heard above the din ; 


14 


with faces flushed with excitement; with gem- 
decked fingers trembling nervously, they handled 
the cards as if in the broad earth there was nothing 
so rare or so to be desired as that cut-glass water 
pitcher resting on a small table, or the three other 
souvenirs at its side intended for the victors. 

Every woman present could have bought her- 
self duplicates of any or all. 

Margaret was puzzled and amazed. As she 
gazed about her she was absent-mindedly shuffling 
the cards. 

“ Don’t shuffle the clothes off the queen” said her 
new partner, laughing but fidgety. 

This remark made her use all haste but her 
fingers were thumbs and she dealt one of the 
players six cards. She offered, as a mere matter of 
form, to give up the deal, but to her surprise the 
offer was quickly accepted without any demurrers 
or polite hesitancies whatever though she saw a 
black look from her friend across the board. 

The zealous hostess now appeared and stood 
behind her chair. 

“ Do you others mind if I help Miss Roy a 
little ? This is her first experience.” And in the 
sweetest way imaginable she conducted every play 
and fortune began to smile on the dazed Margaret 


15 


so that, when the bell tapped, she and her partner 
were far ahead and passed on to table number four. 

Mrs Dffiire now went the rounds and with a 
railway conductor’s punch, punctured a hole in 
the card she had pinned to Margaret’s sleeve. 

“ I do hope you will win,” she whispered. 

Margaret thought the wish extremely kind — 
she did not know that her hostess had softly whis- 
pered the same words to every stranger in the 
room. 

As Mrs. Delire passed in and out among the 
many tables Margaret’s eyes followed her in genu- 
ine admiration. She could not sufficiently applaud 
her tact or her gracious manner. She was the only 
person in the room who had time to spare. Ap- 
pealed to on every side to settle questions and adjust 
disputes, she did so with the ability of a skilled 
politician. She decided as nearly as possible in 
favor of all parties, giving each one every advan- 
tage the law allowed — smoothing out difficulties 
and restoring peace with the address of a diplomat. 
Long practice alone could have made her thus 
perfect. 

Margaret now won several games in rapid suc- 
cession, and being naturally adaptable she soon 
recovered her self-possession. She looked with a 


16 


feeling of contempt at all those eager, chattering 
women, and their mad desire for the paltry prizes 
seemed nothing short of imbecile. 

She continued to win. 

A pleasurable feeling took possession of her. 
She discovered that the “ nothing venture, nothing 
have’* tactics were the ones that succeeded, so she 
played with increasing risks and victory crowned 
her efforts. She felt little quivers of excitement. 
Every sense was on the alert. That is, every card 
sense, for — must we acknowledge it? — there were 
little unfair actions, little meannesses, that did not 
shock her until afterwards. Once or twice she 
thought that some of the ladies cheated. 

But surely she must have been wrong ! 

Before she knew it her fingers were moving 
with some of the haste that had at first impressed 
her as being so unnecessary. Then she became 
much interested. Finally she caught the fever of 
play. 

It was so “ lovely ” to win. 

Point after point she scored. She left her 
original partner, she who in such pitying politeness 
had tried to bear her faults, far behind. “ Lone 
hands” were as common as blackberries in July 
but somehow hers always “ went through” and by 




17 


some instinct she invariably managed to keep the 
proper card to catch her adversaries odd suits in 
the last round. 

On every table was a small dish of sweets. 
Pounds of candy were consumed by these fair and 
fragile beings during the progress of the game ; 
while in and out, amid the sweeping draperies, 
went the waiters distributing a frozen punch of 
most delicious brew. 

The heat became intense. Gas and fires and 
many breaths made the atmosphere stiflng. But 
Margaret who was wont to declare that foul air 
made her faint ; who abhorred bad ventilation ; 
who must have oxygen and plenty of it — went on 
with the most eager persistence, apparently not 
noticing the discomfort. 

On every cheek there burned a crimson spot; 
each ear was a flaming red. Occasionally a hand 
would be pressed to a throbbing brow, but — “ on 
with the game.” 

Locks became disheveled ; curls lost their crispi- 
ness, and crimps grew limp. Bonnet strings were 
lossened and gloves and handkerchiefs slid un- 
noticed upon the carpet. Peachy skins became oily 
with the intense heat and perspiration streamed 
from many a brow as if it were midsummer; while 


18 


fingers, sticky with much chocolate and many 
creams, bedaubed the cards — but still they played. 

For three mortal hours there was feverish shuf- 
fling and dealing — no “ cutting,” that took too 
much time — but “ passing ” and “ ordering up,” 
“ assisting” and “ going alone;” yet no one seemed 
to think of fatigue. 

“ How many holes have you,” asked a friend 
as Margaret took a seat at the same table. 

$? Don’t think of counting them,” interposed 
another in all seriousness, “ it’s bad luck.”. 

Even the superstition of the gambler had in- 
fected them. 

There is surely nothing so unaccountable as 
fashion’s whims. This game, though introduced 
many years ago, seems all at once to have sprung 
into popularity. In certain cities it has become 
such a passion that it has suppressed nearly all 
other forms of entertaining. Frowned upon by 
straight-laced people, talked against and even con- 
demned from the pulpit it still holds its charm and 
threatens not only the older, milder and less ex- 
citing forms of amusement, but the very manners 
and morals of “polite circles.” 

The excitement of winning, we must admit, is 
not the sole cause of its popularity. It is the only 


19 


form of entertainment where every guest is on an 
equality. It affords an easy way of paying social 
obligations without offending friends who are omit- 
ted, as the number is necessarily limited. Fur- 
thermore, the hostess has no individual responsi- 
bility as, if her guests do not enjoy themselves it 
is their own fault. 

Its fascinations are so great that it amounts to 
a mania. Many enjoy it who would be horrified if 
husbands or sons played at their clubs for money, 
but where is the difference? Some of these women 
at Mrs. D^lire’s attended one and sometimes two 
euchre parties a day — except on Sunday, they did 
draw the line there — and the business-like way in 
which they sat down to a game would have been 
amusing had it not been pitiful. 

A stranger looking into the handsome parlors 
that Tuesday afternoon, if by chance, he had never 
seen the game, would have been astounded. The 
noise, the flurry, the nervousness and, above all, 
the extreme earnestness, were nothing short of 
marvelous. 

As time passed and each game was expected to 
be the last all these features were intensified, and 
in the very atmosphere there was a tension that 
had to be felt to be appreciated. 


20 


When the hostess announced “ Only one game 
more,” there is nothing to which the scene can be 
compared save a close race where the horses run 
neck and neck and all powers lend aid in reaching 
the goal. 

Then the bell tapped. 

Instantly the excitement f subsided and there 
was a sudden collapse. Ladies were ladies again, 
but limp and exhausted specimens they were. Ices 
and cakes assisted in cooling them off, while the 
indefatigable hostess passed from table to table 
making out the score. 

Margaret recovered from her delirium and felt 
as if she had been dreaming. She had scored the 
highest number of games by one point and the 
pitcher was presented to her. But it was in any- 
thing but triumph that she accepted the costly gift 
from a perfect stranger, and she had an inward 
spasm of repugnance as she tried to express her 
thanks with some cordiality. 

Everyone now came up to congratulate her and 
a Miss Darlington, an intimate friend of Louise’s, 
under pretext of examining the prize drew her into 
a corner. 

“ If I tell you a joke,” she said, “ will you 
swear to keep it a secret?” 


21 


“ Certainly ; what is it ? " 

Did you notice that little Sevres vase that was 
given for the Consolation ?" (prize.) 

“ Yes; it is a beauty. What of it?*” 

“Well it was mine, and I traded it to Mrs. 
D61ire for a prize she had won and didn't want. 
I won it at a party Mrs. Harris gave and — -just 
think — Mrs. Harris herself has just drawn it!” 

Margaret was horrified. “ Perhaps she will not 
recognize it." 

“ Recognize it? She cannot fail to." 

“ I have seen others like it." 

“ That is true, but this was an imperfect piece — 
had a hole in it somewhere or something — anyhow 
when I put water in it, it all leaked out, which is 
the reason I traded." 

“ Mrs. Harris probably did not know that." 

“ You can just bet she did. I know she bought 
it cheap on account of the flaw. I'm glad she's 
got it on her hands again. Serves her right, stingy 
thing ! " 

“ It is simply dreadful ! " But at the same 
time Margaret could not help feeling amused. 

“Isn't it? Thought I should die when I saw 
her draw for it — felt in my bones she was going to 


2 


22 


get it. Don’t tell on me ; even Mrs. Delire doesn’t 
know who owned it originally.” 

After the prizes had been admired the leave 
taking began. Margaret drew a breath of relief as 
she passed outside to where Homer, the coachman 
awaited her in the darkness. 

But her euchre party was not yet over. 

As she was stepping into the carriage a young 
lady, Miss Clark by name, came running after her 
saying : — 

“ I’m so glad you got the prize — but only fancy ! 
After I got up stairs I counted my card again and 
discovered I had overlooked one punch ; I was 
even games with you.” 

“ Will you not please take the pitcher,” cried 
Margaret offering it eagerly ; “ it would have been 
yours but for the mistake.” 

“ Oh no, no; I couldn’t think of such a thing ! 
I didn’t mean that. I only told you because I 
think it was so funny of me to count wrong.” 

“ But I insist,” and Margaret pressed it on her. 

Miss Clark put her hands behind her and re- 
fused. 

“ It would have been yours anyhow, for we 
should have cut for it and I never do have any 
luck cutting.” 


23 


“At least let us go in again and cut.” 

“ Don’t say another word for nothing could in- 
duce me,” — and she was off before Margaret had 
time to stop her, so she and her pitcher entered the 
brougham. 

She leaned back in a corner anything but satis- 
fied with herself, her success, her first euchre party, 
and dead tired. 

“ Well what do you think of Progressive 
Euchre ? ” was Louise’s greeting. 

Margaret dropped into a chair with a sigh. 

“ Three good hours have been worse than 
wasted,” she answered. 

“ Poor Madge ! You are always wanting to be 
improved. Don’t you ever do anything for pleas- 
ure alone ? ” 

“ But this was no pleasure. It wasn’t even in- 
nocent ; it was — evil.” 

“ Don’t be gloomy. You are tired and dis- 
posed to criticise. Now I can see good in every- 
thing.” 

“ Then tell me what good you can possibly see 
in Progressive Euchre ? ” said Margaret amused. 

“ Oh it could teach one lots of things. In the 
first place it is a splendid chance to study char- 
acter.” 


24 


“ I admit that ; what else ? ” 

“ Then one can learn self-control and unselfish- 
ness and numerous other admirable traits.” 

“ If you look at it in that light I can agree 
with you.” « 

“ It's the way to look at it. Think what an 
exercise and training in courtesy and forbearance ! ” 
“And what a school for the cultivation of 
sweetness of temper! ” 

“And rapidity of thought and motion.” 

“ Really you almost persuade me that there is 
no moral influence equal to Progressive Euchre.” 

“ But jesting aside, dear, tell me what enormi- 
ties were perpetrated this afternoon, for I can see 
that you are disgusted, though evidently you met 
the foe on equal terms, for you have brought home 
a beautiful trophy.” 

“ That's just it; Fanny Steele,” said Margaret 
solemnly, “ I hope I may never so far forget my- 
self as I did this afternoon, for if I ever do I think 
my chance of Heaven is small.” 

Fanny laughed ; “ I'll take the pitcher and 
you can swear off.” 

“ No ; this pitcher must go to Miss Clark the 
first thing to-morrow.” 


25 


A Wedding and a Half. 


I I ND here was Margaret Roy in an awkward 
GyJ'A predicament. Her beloved brother Walter 
was to be married and she was a guest in 
the home of his JiancS, Louise Steele. That young 
woman had asked her to be maid of honor on a 
certain grand occasion and she had readily con- 
sented. Simple facts all these, but — 

With a man’s blindness to events passing under 
his very nose, Walter had asked his guardian, Dr. 
Mortimer, to be “ best man ; ” and the best man 
and the maid of honor were to constitute one of 
the pairs whose business it was to add beauty and 
grace to the wedding tableau around the altar and 
march out afterward, arm in arm, to slow music. 

Well, what of it ? Seemingly, there could be 
no objection to Dr. Mortimer; handsome, of splen- 


26 


did bearing, a brand-new widower — no disparage- 
ment all this, surely, but — 

When the order of the wedding procession was 
disclosed to her, Margaret grew cold all over. 
How could either of them stand such an ordeal ? 
What thoughts, what painful reflections would not 
such an arrangement cause. She placed her hopes 
of escape upon Dr. Mortimer himself ; he would 
undoubtedly find an excuse for declining. 

But day after day went by and there was no 
change of programme. The doctor even wrote a 
letter expressing the pleasure it gave him to accept 
the honor. If it was to be, she must nerve herself 
for the trial. Whole scenes were rehearsed. She 
would conceal her real feeling; she would put him 
at his ease ; no one would suspect from her manner 
that they were aught but the best of friends. 

She sighed: “I love frankness and I hate con- 
cealment; but like all women, I must play a part.” 

Those last days came back to her. 

“ Margaret, Margaret,” the poor sick wife had 
said, “ I have not long to live ; tell me the truth. 
Did Edward ever ask you to marry him ? ” 

And Margaret had answered, looking her 
straight in the face, “ No, he never did.” 


27 


Then the coldness of the doctor toward her, and 
the pain of their last interview. How soon forget- 
fulness blots out for a man events indelible to a 
woman’s mind ! 

“Your answer, Margaret, would have seemed 
right to the majority of people, and your course 
was the easy one, but I can hardly believe it of 
you. I thought you truth itself. You have de- 
stroyed a faith that has been my anchor through 
many trials.” 

That was all. He had accused her of falsify- 
ing and she, offended, had walked proudly away. 
He did not remember. The details of the incident 
that had changed her whole life had left no trace 
for him. She could never explain. She could not 
tell him that he had interpreted a few silly words 
as an attempt to discourage wooing. 

Was ever woman placed in such a predicament? 

Walter and the doctor arrived, and the meet- 
ing took place in the presence of the whole family. 
She heard his voice in the hall and thought 
she was going to faint. Surging emotions over- 
whelmed her. 

The door opened and in came the two men. 
Walter kissed her tenderly. Dr. Mortimer came 


28 


forward and took her hand in a fatherly way, say- 
ing, without the slighest embarrassment : 

“ My dear child, how well you are looking ! 
We can never be grateful enough to Miss Louise 
for this change.” 

And was Margaret relieved at this simple solv- 
ing of her difficulty ? 

By no means. She had the bad grace to feel 
hurt and bitter ; he had treated her as if she were 
an irresponsible child. But she would not be out- 
done in coldness. And her careless indifference 
matched his own. 

This was precisely the result that the doctor 
had planned. Four years of married life had 
made him woman-wise. 

Weddings are delightful things to look forward 
to. The ceremony itself is “ scary,” but the prep- 
aration affords weeks of pleasurable excitement. 
Such cleaning and painting and decorating ; such 
counting of the best old china; such rubbing up 
of the family silver ; such bringing forth of rare 
ornaments ; such draping and festooning ; such re- 
modeling of ancient grandeur ; such resurrecting 
of family friends that haven't been thought of for 
years ; such unearthings of poor relatives that must 


29 


be bidden to the feast, or woe to the survivors ! 
On it goes, milliners, mantua-makers, jewelers, 
caterers, presents, friends, relatives, family serv- 
ants, in an endless, door-bell-ringing procession. 
Then after weeks of work and bustle, after it is 
thought that everything has been ordered and ar- 
ranged beforehand, the important day comes and 
it’s here and there and everywhere, attending to a 
hundred “ unexpected things’’ up to the very mo- 
ment that it is time to go to church. 

And the bride herself. What an object of un- 
quenched curiosity is she ! A halo of sentiment 
floats in the air above her. No one thwarts her. 
For once she is the principal personage in her 
world, and she rules in absolute despotism. 

With envious eyes her “ unengaged” friends 
note her every motion. She is accredited with 
sensations to which, ten to one, she is a perfect 
stranger — with nights of sleeplessness and food- 
less days that she is tar from suffering. She is 
spared the slighest exertion ; her path is made 
easy ; for whose sake ? The happy groom’s ? By 
no means. Who thinks of him ? It is that she 
may look her prettiest in that snowy gown, that 
bewilderingly diaphanous veil. If never beauti- 
ful before, she must be beautiful now — at least, for 


30 


the few short moments when she shall stand before 
the altar, the center for hundreds of admiring eyes. 

Surely there is nothing so monopolizingly inter- 
esting as a wedding ! 

The morning dawns which is to see the mar- 
riage vows of Louise and Walter. The little 
bride, not being allowed to take any part in the 
bustle, roams restlessly over the house, tiring her- 
self much more than if she had been given some 
quiet occupation. 

Her old nurse, “Aunt Martha,” one of the last 
of the dear “ bandana ” negroes, followed her round 
as if she were a toddling infant. She was sup- 
posed to have charge of the presents, but Louise 
was surprised to find a fragile vase, fallen from the 
table, broken in a hundred pieces. 

“ Don’t fret, honey,” said the old woman. 
“ I’se glad it’s gone.” 

“ Why, Mammy,” exclaimed Louise, “ what do 
you mean ! ” 

“Chile, you know I wanted you to send it back 
when it come. Ef it hadn’t bin salivated it would 
er brung you bad luck, sholy, cause ’t was sent by 
er enemy.” 

Margaret looked mystified and Louise hastened 
to explain : 


31 


* 


“Your friend, Miss Clark, is the ‘ enemy/ 
Ever since she was rude to you, Mammy has drop- 
ped her from her good books, and I have strong 
suspicion that the salivation was premeditated.” 

The French hair-dresser arrives; likewise the 
French hair-dresser’s assistant. Then the French 
dressmaker and her assistant. And beside them 
the bride herself is of small consequence, so full 
of airs are they. Aunt Marthy is the only one 
that dares oppose an opinion to their rulings ; 
undaunted, she seats herself in her “chile’s” cham- 
ber and freely gives them the benefit of her taste, 
opinions and previous experiences. 

The supreme toilette begins. 

Each article of bridal regalia is admired while 
Louise stands patiently waiting. Then seated be- 
fore a long mirror, they pull and tug at her waving 
hair until she is ready to cry from nervousness. 

Then, with a woman guiding it on each side, 
the heavy silk is lifted and put over her shoulders: 
the smooth-fitting corsage is laced ; the wedding 
veil, all filmy tulle, covers her piquant, blushing 
face. One natural orange blossom is pinned to 
the bosom of her gown, and a bunch of them is 
fastened in her hair. Walter has scoured the South 
for a few belated blooms. 


32 




Then a necklace of creamy pearls, the groom’s 
gift, is clasped around her white throat, and at this 
stage of the toilette the Frenchwomen fall down 
and worship. 

The bride is now inspected, her train spread 
out, a pin placed here and there, and she is ready. 

Mrs Steele is summoned, and comes sailing in, 
robed in heavy satin and rare lace. There is more 
than a suspicion of moisture in her fond mother- 
eyes, but she critically scrutinizes her child, and 
tells her that “ she never looked better in her life.” 

Then enters Margaret, all in floating white, 
trimmed in palest green. She carries a boquet of 
orchids, and looks a picture, indeed. Her eyes are 
brighter than ever, and there is a rosy flush on her 
soft cheek. 

“How sweet you do look, dear!” both girls say 
in a breath, as they gingerly implant a kiss upon 
each other’s lips. 

Next the carriages drive up and the bridesmaids 
begin to arrive ; and the sound of their chattering 
comes up from below like sparrows in a sycamore 
tree. But though they talk, they dare not sit for 
fear of mussing their smart gowns. 

Mr. Steele joins them, looking solemn and ner- 
vous — much adorned in a brand-new frock coat 


and the stiffest of collars. He looks at his watch 
for the hundredth time and counts the bridesmaids 
to see if any be missing. 

Then in comes the little bride, and the chatter- 
ing ceases, and there is a hush as if in the presence 
of the Queen herself. 

As she gives to each the flowers they are to 
carry and the diamond encrusted pendant that the 
groom has chosen for the occasion, she looks rather 
tremulous and catches her breath. At which sight 
there is a sympathetic choking of fair throats and 
more than one bright eye is dim ; but with an 
effort she rallies and says : 

u Good-bye, girls; this is the last time you will 
ever speak to Louise Steele.” 

At this her father coughed dubiously, and 
announces that it is time to start, and he and his 
wife head the procession, followed by Aunt Marthy 
and Louise’s two little brothers. And the boys 
show a most irreverent insensibility to the gravity 
of the occasion — being disposed to gambols and sly 
kicks and pinches ; and the pockets of their black 
velvet knickerbockers bulge in a most unfestive- 
like way, until Aunt Martha, with more energy 
than gentleness, disgorges numerous purloined 
confections therefrom, and separating them by 


34 


her own erect figure she marches with dignity to 
the carriage, where she makes them occupy the 
back seat while she spreads herself on the front, so 
that her silver-gray poplin will emerge unwrinkled 
at the church. 

Then the bridesmaids come out, two by two, 
and seat themselves carefully in their respective 
vehicles, and the crowd increases around the front 
gate, and the policemen in charge bang the carriage 
doors. 

And a lovely June sunlight spreads its golden 
rays over all as the hands of the clock approach 
the hour of noon. 

Then there is a pause, and the gaping crowd 
catches a glimpse of the beautiful bride as she and 
her best maid step from under the awning into the 
carriage. 

Old Homer, to whom belongs the honor of 
driving them, seems as if he will surely burst with 
pride, as, looking neither to right nor left, he 
adroitly curbs his pair of high-stepping bays, all 
bedecked in immaculate harness and sheeny wed- 
ding favors. 

The carriages move, and they drive to the stone 
church. And as they draw near, strains of sweet 


music come vibrating on the summer breeze; fresh 
young voices singing, “ The Rose Maiden.’* 

“ ’Tis thy wedding morning 
Shining in the skies; 

Bridal bells are ringing, 

Bridal songs arise.” 

And as Louise’s ear catches the tones she shivers 
and turns a frightened face to Margaret, and Mar- 
garet takes her hand and squeezes it very tight, but 
she says nothing, for she has turned stone cold 
herself. 

Then the bride and her maids gather in the 
vestibule, and the ushers, clad in the swellest of 
garb, walk gravely in pairs down to the door of 
the church to meet them. 

And a murmur passes over the congregation as 
the groom and his best man come through the 
vestry door and stand at the chancel rail. And 
everybody asks “ Which is the groom?” for both men 
are strangers; some say Walter and some say the 
doctor, and, whichever of the two is thought to be 
the important person, all the women say “How 
handsome?” and none of the men agree with them. 

And one of the ushers remarks under his breath 
that “ The groom doesn’t look a bit scared ;” and his 


36 


mate replies that “ He has Steeled himself for the 
ordeal,” and both being afraid to smile are funere- 
ally solemn. 

Next they pair off and go up to the chancel, 
two by two, like animals entering the Ark. 

And the maidens’ voices grow sweeter and 
gladder as the couples march to the altar, keeping 
step to the music and at equal distances apart. 

And they are singing “ Arise, fair maid, arise ! ” 
when there is a longer space. And a thrill passes 
over the audience as the little bride, with a deathly 
white face, comes up the broad aisle leaning heavily 
on Margaret. And it seems to Louise as if the 
aisle is many miles in length, and her feet are made 
of lead. 

But to Margaret comes a sudden lightness. 
The hundreds of feather fans are a sea of hands 
waving and beckoning to her; while standing out 
from the many heads, so that she can recognize no 
other, is one who seems to tower in dignity and 
nobility above them all. And she forgets Louise 
and her brother and the staring crowd, while the 
organ grows jubilant and the singers sing to her 
alone, “ Arise, arise ! ” And it makes her glad 
with an unaccountable gladness she has not felt for 
years. 


37 


As they approach the rail the groom leaves 
his best man and takes his position upon a chalk 
mark on the mosaic floor. And the bride leaves 
her best maid and stands upon another chalk mark. 
And all the bridesmaids and all the groomsmen 
likewise find their respective chalk marks. And 
when the symmetrical picture is completed, the 
singers sound their last notes, the organ tones down 
to sweet, low music and the ceremony begins. 

Mrs. Steele takes out her handkerchief and 
quietly cries from the beginning to the end; Aunt 
Martha gazes straight at nothing with the unwink- 
ing stillness of a bronze statue, and Mr. Steele 
refrains from looking at either of them, but stands 
ready to give the bride away. 

Hundreds of roses shed their fragrance on the 
summer air. The lights glimmer upon the marble 
altar and before it stand Louise and Walter, plight- 
ing their troth. 

“In the name of the Father, Son and Holy 
Ghost,” the white-robed minister pronounces them 
man and wife. Then he shakes hands with the 
groom and kisses the bride while all the women 
present hold their breath, and everybody gives a 
sigh of relief when the first bridesmaid hands the 
bride her boquet and the organ glides into the 
3 


38 


Mendelssohn “ Wedding March ” and the procession 
wends its way out. 

The color conies back to the little bride’s 
cheek and she no longer looks white and scared, 
but very sweet and happy; she even smiles at 
something the groom whispers to her. 

And the poor mother wipes her eyes and her 
husband tries to stand so that the crowd will not 
notice her, but nobody pays the slightest attention 
to either of them. 

And the “ best man ” offers the “ best maid ” 
his arm and so they all pass out. 

As Margaret walked down the long aisle lean- 
ing on that strong arm, she felt as if earth held no 
other stay for her — that she would lean on it 
forever; but the outdoor brightness flashed into 
her face, bringing her back to a cruel reality. 
This is no more her lover — he had cruelly mis- 
judged her; her only brother, for whom she had 
planned to devote her life, had found a nearer love 
and had divided his allegiance in a most unequal 
fashion. ■ 

Her eyes were misty as she stepped into the 
carriage, the door of which closed upon her and 
Dr. Mortimer. 


39 


The lace of her sleeve caught on the hinge. 
The doctor leaned forward to disengage it. He 
was so near that she turned her head aside, unac- 
countably agitated and provoked at herself for 
being so. 

“ I am awkward,” he said. “ Don’t scold me ; 
the lace is torn.” But in saying the words he smiled 
that serious smile she had once so loved to see, and 
it forced her to look at him. 

And strange to say, something in her look 
emboldened him to take the gloved hand and say in 
a tender voice : 

“ Just now, Margaret, as I looked down the 
long aisle and saw you coming toward me, I felt 
that all would be explained between us; that there 
was a mistake somewhere. That day — you remem- 
ber it — some distorted sense of duty forced you to 
tell a falsehood.” 

She drew away indignantly : “ I tell a false- 
hood ? How little you know me. Not for all the 
earth ! ” 

He replied in amazement: “Did not Helena, 
my wife — did she? Child, tell me exactly what 
occurred; she was ill and had strange fancies.” 

“ What did she say to you ? ” 


40 


“ That she begged you to tell her whether I 
had ever asked you to be my wife, and you said 
‘ no.’ ” 

“ She reported me correctly.” 

“Then how do you reconcile your two state- 
ments?” 

“ I repeat that I told her the truth.” 

“ Do you mean to insist to my face, that I 
never asked you to marry me ? ” 

“ I mean that very thing.” 

“ Margaret, how can you — are you crazy ? I 
do not remember my exact words, no man ever 
does — but they meant very plainly, t Will you be 
my wife?’ It was an unequivocal proposal of 
marriage.” 

“ I remember your exact words and they were 
only a prelude to a proposal ; the proposal itself 
never came.” 

“You puzzle me; I believe you really think 
you are telling the truth.” 

“ Thank you for the concession,” (frigidly). 

“ Do explain yourself. I say I asked you to be 
my wife and you say I did not ; what then did I 
say ? ” 

“ Isn’t this rather afcurious subject for discus- 
sion?” 


41 


“ Curious or not — won’t you answer my ques- 
tion?” 

Margaret hesitated, then took a sudden plunge; 

“ You said : ‘ If I were to ask you to marry me, 
I wonder what you would say?’” 

“ Yes, yes ; or words to that effect.” 

“No; those identical words.” 

“ So be it. You said 4 no/ and that proves that 
you considered it a proposal.” 

Margaret was silent. 

“ Am I not right?” 

“ I did not say ‘ no.’ ” 

“ You did not?” His voice grew high in his 
surprise. Then quieting down : “ What aquibbler 
you are ! You meant ‘ no/ and that amounts to 
the same thing.” 

Again Margaret was silent, but a beautiful 
blush arose, deepened and stayed. 

Dr. Mortimer looked at her intently, then 
leaving the seat opposite her he sat by her side, 
regardless of tulle and lace. 

“ Be frank with me, Margaret ; tell me the 
whole. It seems that I expressed myself in a very 
lame fashion. Why did you repulse me? Was 
not my meaning clear ? ” 


42 


“I was young — and silly. No man had ever 
asked me — that question — something seemed about 
to end. I can hardly explain it, but an irresist- 
able impulse to — postpone matters — for a little while 
— seized me — and — and my words gave a different 
impression/’ 

But these last words were said to the orange 
bloom in his coat, for at the beginning of her halt- 
ing sentence Dr. Mortimer had put his arm 
around her and held her fast. 

She did not have to be such an actress, after all. 

“ Margaret, my curiosity is still ungratified. 
You remember my stupid way of expressing myself 
so well, tell me exactly what you answered.” 

“ Don’t make me ; we were both stupid. Let’s 
forget all about it.” 

“ Let’s tell it and then forget it. I said ‘ Mar- 
garet, if I were to ask you to be my wife what would 
you say ? ’ And you answered — ” 

“ I answered — you are an awful tyrant — no, not 
exactly that. You said, ‘ Margaret if I were to ask 
you to be my wife, what would you say?’ A most 
inconsiderate, non-committal question. And I 
answered, ‘You wouldn’t be such a goose.’ ” 


43 




u Just so. You can hardly blame me for what 
followed .- ” 

“ Surely you do not think that any woman on 
earth would have considered that a bona fide pro- 
posal ! ” 

“ It was just as definite a proposal as I — ” 

But Margaret put her hand over his mouth : 
“ If you dare say it, just consider everything be- 
tween us as ended.” 





44 


Medje. 


XG) ES, I frankly admit my love for Katherine 
Y Evans. 

Insensibility to feminine perfection not be- 
ing one of my virtues, the first sight of her was 
enough to enslave me for evermore. 

As may be imagined, I was not her only adorer. 
Would that I had been! Instead, I constituted 
but one insignificant soul in the long procession of 
strivers for advancement in her regard. 

My great love for Katherine made me a hypo- 
crite. It made me pretend that I loved Medj6 also, 
and I simply detested her. 

(Medj6 being the pug dog of Katherine.) 

Not that she wasn’t a fine animal — as far as a full 
thoroughbred with a pedigree a mile long is fine — 
with tar-black face spotted with moles, cream-col- 
ored hair and a tail curling so tight it must have 
hurt her. She was descended from an English im- 


45 


portation, owned by Judge Munroe, of Lexington, 
and in addition to distinguished ancestry was pos- 
sessed of unusual intelligence. 

In one respect Medj6 was an exception to pets 
of her breed; that is to say, though fat, she was 
neither lazy nor asthmatic. This was altogether 
owing to my darling’s exertions, as no human being 
could have received more care. She was bathed, 
exercised and dieted ; she was taught many tricks, 
and put through them regularly every day for fear 
she might forget them. Yes, she was smart enough — 
too smart for me ! 

The proverbial instinct of dogs and children 
was fully exemplified in Medje’s case; she knew 
my inimical feeling just as' well as if I had mis- 
treated her instead of constantly fawning for favor. 

In vain the donations of candy and sugar; for 
naught those races and games prolonged until both 
of us were panting from exhaustion. Even the 
unmurmuring acceptance of a covering of cream- 
colored hair, which she was in a chronic state of 
shedding over my best clothing, failed to soften her. 
She allowed me to spend both time and substance 
in her service, but if, in return, I attempted to 
tease or take any liberties with her, a snarling show 
of her sharp teeth was my sure reward. 


46 


You may think I was a cur to object to this, but 
put yourself in my place for a moment. Suppose 
you were desperately in love with the most magnifi- 
cent woman in the world, and every time you 
started to tell her so and sat a bit closer for the pur- 
pose, a cold little snub-nose were to poke itself be- 
tween you ? 

Not much encouragement to eloquence in that ! 

Or, if you seized a soft, white hand, wouldn’t 
you consider it a nuisance to have it instantly with- 
drawn in order to pat an animal that chose that 
very time to lick it ? 

It made me sick. 

I suppose there was some jealousy mixed with 
my antipathy for the dog. Of one thing I am 
sure — I would have been only too glad to believe 
that Miss Evans would ever love me as she loved 
Medj6. 

In our part of the country custom doesn’t exact 
a chaperon, and young ladies often go with gentle- 
men alone to places of amusement and nothing is 
thought of it. In the North, I know, it is dif- 
ferent. 

Katherine never lacked invitations, and a fellow 
had to get up early in order to obtain the pleasure 
of escorting her. 


47 


Bernhardt was playing and the crowds that went 
to hear her were large and fashionable. The seats 
were in such demand that in order to get my choice 
I had to pay a man to stand in front of the box 
office all night, so as to be first in line the morning 
of the sale. By this means I was fortunate to se- 
cure the best seats in the house. We could see all 
the audience and all the audience could see us. 

It is needless to say that I looked forward to 
the night with impatience. I made up my mind 
that as Miss Katherine could not possibly take 
Medje to the theater, there was my chance to speak, 
so I laid my plans. 

When the time arrived I made a careful toilet 
and, taking a carriage, went early to the Evans* 
house. 

The moment I entered the door Medj4 came 
tearing down the steps as if the house was afire. 
She had just had her bath and her coat was wet. 

I knew what that meant — a romp. At such 
times she would rush through the parlor into the 
hall and back, barking and jumping as if she were 
mad. Katherine encouraged the habit, as it dried 
her coat quickly and prevented her taking cold. 

On this occasion my chagrin was great upon see- 
ing that she carried in her mouth the American 


48 


Beauty roses that I had expended good substance 
in obtaining for my darling. 

Katherine followed her. 

“ Just see ; doesn’t she look too beautiful flying 
around with that lovely red in contrast to her 
creamy hair?” (This without bidding me “good 
evening” or anything.) 

I assented in a feeble way, when she said, turn- 
ing her grey eyes full upon me : 

“ Do you know, Mr. Atkinson, I may be doing 
you an injustice, but sometimes I think — not from 
anything you do, of course, but just one of those 
intuitions, don’t you know — that you do not like 
Medj6 as much as you pretend?” 

“Who, I?” was my reply made in haste; “how 
on earth can you have received such an idea as 
that ! I consider her the most intelligent dog I ever 
saw, and such cunning ways ! ” and I took the 
nasty, wet thing in my arms, spoiling my gloves 
and soiling my shirt front in my eagerness to dis- 
prove the assertion. 

Miss Evans did not look convinced. I made 
further effort : 

“Come, Miss Mudgie; let’s have a first-class 
romp. It’s too early to take your mistress to the 
show ; nobody will be there to see the beauty of 


49 




the town come in, and we want to create a sensa- 
tion, don’t we?” 

With which I began racing around through the 
halls and up and down the long drawing-room as if 
the foul fiend were after me. 

Presently the dog stopped running and began 
jumping at my coat-tails. 

“You cute tiling!” exclaimed her mistress. 
“ Isn’t she the smartest dog alive ? The last time 
you were here you played ‘doll’ with her and I re- 
member you put her doll in your pocket for her to 
find. She recollects it, and is begging you as 
plainly as if she could speak, to play with her.” 

I jumped at the hint. “ Where is the doll ? It 
certainly is smart of her! Who says animals don’t 
think?” 

The doll was produced, and though already per- 
spiring and breathless, I prepared for further exer- 
tion . 

It was one of those rubber things, such as very 
young babies play with, and the game consisted in 
hiding it after the dog’s eyes were bandaged and 
then letting her find it, which she never failed 
to do. 

I engaged in this elevating pastime until Kath- 
erine’s mother came in and said it was time to start. 


50 


I was only too glad to stop the dog’s recreation and 
take mine. 

The theatre was near, so Miss Katherine made 
me discharge the carriage on the plea that “ it was 
such a lovely night for a stroll.” On the way I 
had time to cool off a little. 

We found the house seated and the curtain 
about to rise. Everybody, dressed in their finest, 
was gazing around to see how everybody else 
looked. We made an impression, I assure you, as 
we walked the length of the building. 

It was a proud moment for me. 

All eyes were turned on the beautiful Miss 
Evans, and she was more than ever beautiful that 
night. She wore a rose-colored wrap made of some 
rich material, worked in silver, and heavily 
trimmed with a fur that she called silver fox. Her 
bonnet was a veritable diadem of pink and silver, 
and she bore it like the queen she was. 

As I walked by her side I could see the heads 
turn and the necks crane to get a sight of her. She 
herself seemed perfectly unconscious of the admira- 
tion she was exciting, and followed the usher with 
as much self-possession as if there were not another 
soul in the house. 


51 


On reaching our seats I helped her lay aside her 
wrap and held her fan and flowers while she 
settled herself. 

Then I removed my overcoat and sat down. 

But just fancy how startled I was to hear some- 
thing under me go — 

“ Squeak ! ” 

Instinctively I jumped up and sat down again, 
when — 

“ Squeak ! ” even shriller than before. 

The truth suddenly flashed over me. It was 
Medj6’s rubber doll ! I had hidden it in my 
pocket just as Mrs. Evans came into the room and — 
I hadn’t taken it out ! 

What on earth was to be done ! Everyone 
•near us stared at me in bewilderment, and some 
people in the parquette nearly fell over backwards 
in the anxiety to see what was happening. 

I wanted to die then and there. 

Miss Katherine glared straight ahead, and had 
it not been for the crimson flush that overspread 
her face, I should not have thought she had heard 
the very peculiar noise. 

I put my hand stealthily behind me to take the 
beastly thing out, but every motion produced a 


52 


sound from beneath, more or less loud — generally 
more. 

Miss Evans turned to me fiercely and whispered 
under her breath : 

“ Don’t touch it ! Don’t dare take it out ! 
Don’t move ! ” 

I then reflected how absurd would be the situa- 
tion of both of us if I unearthed in full view of the 
fashionsble assembly a rubber doll with a blue sash 
around its waist; so I obeyed her command and 
sat in a stillness that was almost petrefaction. 

But no one knows without trying how impossi- 
ble it is to be perfectly still. There are all sorts of 
motions that one makes unconsciously ; a little 
leaning to one side; sitting back in one’s chair; 
crossing or uncrossing the legs; pulling one’s mus- 
tache. I was on the point of doing any or all of 
these things many times when the warning would 
sound from that blasted rubber doll. 

Finally the curtain went up and distracted the 
public attention, but by this time I was so nervous 
that I hardly knew where I was or what I was 
doing. 

I managed to whisper : “ For God’s sake, it 

you won’t let me take the thing out, let’s get up 
and go home ! ’’ 


53 


“ Walk out at the beginning of the performance 
before all these people ? Never ! ” 

I could not help remembering how she had 
“ walked in before all these people/ 1 but her tone 
admitted of no argument, so I sat still in torture. 

The two hours that followed are painted vividly 
on my memory. Every muscle of my body, 
strained ; my head, so stiff I could hardly turn it ; 
my very toes aching; and I, in all the discomfort, 
hardly daring to move an eyelash. 

I thought of a thousand things and would have 
attempted any of them had it not been for mv 
partner’s piteous looks. I could not withstand 
those lovely, pleading eyes. 

When the curtain went down for the last time 
no human being ever experienced the relief that I 
did. I sprang to my feet with a final “ Squeak/’ 
and hurrying Miss Evans into her wraps, we were 
almost the first to leave the theatre. 

The moonlight flooded everything in beauty, 
but it was all wasted on me. This little stroll that 
was to have been such an event in my life was a 
thing of bitterness. My companion’s mortification 
was so intense that she did not seem to sympathize 
with my feelings at all. This irritated me, for I 
was entirely blameless in the whole affair — it all 
4 


54 


having come about through my eagerness to be 
agreeable to her. 

Neither of us spoke ; each waiting for the other. 
I thought she ought to say something kind to soothe 
my wounded feelings, and I grew more and more 
indignant as, in unbroken silence, we neared her 
home. 

Finally, when we reached the gate, I said : 

“ Miss Evans, you act as if this unfortunate oc- 
currence were my fault, when the fact is, it is all 
your own and that damned little beast’s.” And as 
I spoke I took the rubber fiend out of my pocket 
and pitched it into the middle of the street. 

At first I thought she was going to cry, and 1 
repented forthwith of my brutal words; but Miss 
Evans was not the crying kind. In a moment she 
had controlled herself ; then she said with dignified 
frigidity : 

“ Mr. Atkinson, after such language, neither I 
nor my dog ever wish to see you again.” 

With that she sailed into the house with an air 
that would have made the traditional “ offended 
duchess ” seem meek in comparison. 

Perhaps you think I didn’t feel miserable? I 
went to my room as unhappy as possible. I had 
lost the love of my life through a good-for-nothing 
pug dog ! 


55 


For the next few days I went about my busi- 
ness in a benumbed sort of a way. I had a. vague 
idea that after the first sharpness of her vexation 
wore off, Miss Evans would repent and would sum- 
mon me to her side. 

I little knew her. 

When not in my office I paced the streets. I 
regretted the ungentlemanly language of which I 
had been guilty, but I didn't quite see my way 
clear to an apology as, after Miss Katherine's com- 
mand, the advance would have to come from her. 

One day I was walking in a locality some dis- 
tance from the Evans' house, when I was surprised 
to hear a little bark behind me, and turning, be* 
held — Medj6. Her tail wagged in instant recogni- 
tion. 

My heart stood still, for, as the animal never 
went out unaccompanied, I expected to see her mis- 
tress or some other member of the family ; but no 
one was in sight. 

Then I saw at once what had happened. She 
had slipped out when nobody was looking — an at- 
tempt she had made hundreds of times — and was 
in danger of being lost or stolen. 

I probably should have taken her home and 
have earned thereby the everlasting gratitude and 


56 


forgiveness of her adorable mistress had not an in- 
cident happened, at the bottom of which was the 
Evil One himself. 

Some boys were passing on the opposite side of 
the street with a Newfoundland dog, who, seeing 
Medjd, bounded across and made as if he would 
swallow the little creature at a gulp. With diffi- 
culty I separated them. Seizing the big dog by 
the collar, I held it with all my strength until the 
boys came up, when finding that one of them was 
the owner, I made him call it off. 

The others idled around looking at me and the 
rescued pug. 

A dreadful temptation assailed me. Pointing 
to Medjb, I said : “ Boys, do any of you know 

whose dog this is?” 

None of them did. 

“ She is evidently a pet,” I continued in glib 
hypocrisy ; “ if I had time I would look for the 
owner, for fear lest some bad boys might find 
her and take her to the Pound to get the twenty- 
five cents that they pay there for stray dogs.” 

The boys became interested and I went on : 

“ Now, it would be a pity to have a nice dog 
like this taken to one of those dirty pounds. I tell 
you what I will do. I will give any one of you 


57 


twenty-five cents who will hunt around this neigh- 
borhood until he finds where the dog belongs.” 
Saying which I took the coin out of my pocket and 
handed it to the nearest boy. 

All the others looked glum. 

“ Now, see that you don't pocket my quarter 
and take the dog to the Pound to get another, for 
that would be cheating, and cheating, you know, is 
wicked.” 

Whilst I was speaking one of the boys took a 
piece of cord from his pocket and tied it around 
Medjk's neck ; then assuring me that they would 
“ play fair” and find the owner of the dog, they de- 
parted. 

The expression of that animal as she was led 
away would have melted a heart of stone. They 
had almost to jerk her head off she pulled back so. 
Her tail hung limply down until it dragged be- 
tween her legs — all its crisp curl departed. She 
turned once before she was out of sight and gave 
me a mournful look that was human. She under- 
stood perfectly what I was doing. 

For several hours I gloated over the occurrence. 
Revenge was a sweet morsel. By night, however, 
there was a reaction. 

I could not help picturing my darling's grief 


58 


and wondering how she was taking the loss of her 
pet. A heavy snow was falling, but not heeding 
it, I went within sight of her house and watched. 

From this occupation I derived but little satis- 
faction. The place was brilliantly lighted, and 
presently several carriages drove up and acquaint- 
ances arrived. I realized with disgust that while 
I was wasting my sympathy upon her, Miss Evans 
was having an entertainment of some sort — proba- 
bly one of those dainty dinners at which I had 
hitherto been a welcome guest. 

All idea of reparation fled before this discovery. 

I slept but little that night, imagining all sorts 
of catastrophes. Medj^’s last look haunted me. 
Suppose those boys had not taken her to the 
Pound? I knew they had not found her real 
owner; she was too far away for that; the poor 
thing might be even now roaming the streets in 
wind and snow, hunted down by boys and dogs. 

Little blue-blooded aristocrat, whose whole life 
had been a thing of luxury and caresses ! What a 
devil I was to have conceived of such a fiendish 
act ! 

As soon as day appeared I had the morning 
paper brought me. I turned to the advertisements 
and gave a gasp of relief when I failed to see one 
announcing the loss of MedjA 


59 


She was safe, then ? After all, the boys had 
taken her home, distant though she had been from 
that heaven, when I had turned her over to their 
tender mercies. Had it been otherwise every paper 
in town would have proclaimed the fact. 

My conscience being relieved I began to growl. 
I had done more than could have been expected of 
me. I could not have returned the dog myself, for 
Miss Evans had forbidden me the house. 

I went down to breakfast and found my friend 
Walker already at the table. 

“ Where were you last night ?” he asked. 

“ Where were you f ” I retorted, evading him. 

“ There is no mystery about my whereabouts. 
I was at the Evans’ dinner.” 

“ Well, I am sorry to say another engagement 
prevented my having that pleasure.” 

“ So Miss Katherine told us.” 

That was kind of her, I thought, but I only 
said: “I suppose my friend Medje entertained 
the company as usual ’? ” 

“ No, strange to say, she was not allowed to ap- 
pear. I always told you Miss Evans was too sensi- 
ble a girl too keep up that folly long; we were 
told that Miss Medj6 is to be tabooed from company 
in future.” 


60 


“For what reason?” I tried to ask coldly, 
though a hope throbbed into being. 

“You, doubtless, could tell more about that 
than I,” answered my friend. 

“ Excuse me ; I know nothing about either 
Miss Evans or her dog.” 

“Indeed! Since when, pray?” but looking 
up, Norman Walker saw my face and changed the 
subject. 

After this conversation, I must confess to feel- 
ing more tranquil. So Katherine had banished 
Medje from the drawing-room? Was it? — could 
it be that the sight of her recalled too painfully the 
friendship she had so recklessly cast away ? 

I ate more that morning than I had since the 
Bernhart experience. 

Later in the day I was sitting in my office, when 
Walker came in. 

“ Have you heard the news ! ” he asked 

“ What news ? ” 

“ Your friend Medjb is lost. I have just met 
Miss Katherine and she is in great distress.” 

“ When did it happen ? ” 

“ It seems the animal was missing last night, 
but on account of the dinner her absence was un- 
noticed until this morning. Miss Katherine 


61 


thought she was asleep in her basket, and the serv- 
ants thought she was with her mistress. The poor 
girl is distracted and looks like a funeral.” 

“ That is the worst of these pets/* I managed 
to say. “ One gets attached to them, and when 
anything befalls them there is an awful wrench; ” 

“ I advised her,” continued Walker, “to go to 
the Pound.” 

“ Then she has probably found her by this time, 
and is all serene again,” I replied. 

I felt relieved to think that Miss Evans would 
find her dog, as I was now sure that the boys had 
taken her to the Pound as I intended they should. 
The next morning dispelled this illusion, for all the 
papers contained advertisements in large type. As 
I read them I felt guilty, indeed! 

Repentance urged me to take steps towards 
restitution. I sought the locality where I had last 
seen Medj6 in the hope of meeting some of the boys 
and learning her fate. Their faces, I believed, I 
should be able to recognize. 

In this I erred. Although I met numerous 
boys, all of them looked so much alike that I 
could not be sure I had ever seen one of them be- 
fore. I hesitated to inquire promiscuously lest I 
should attract suspicion, so I returned to my office 
and resolved to await events. 


62 


But days went by and that advertisement still 
appeared. 

I grew desperate. My conscience urged me to 
find that dog and restore her to her mistress. 

Norman Walker kept me posted : “ Miss Kath- 
erine’s grief was excessive — silly — considering it 
was all for a dog. Why, she actually took no in- 
terest in anything, but moped around, refusing to 
be amused ! ” 

This was the last straw. My darling suffering 
and through me ! I forgot all my grievances — 
even the rubber crying-doll — I forsook the law and 
devoted my time to tracing the lost Medj6. 

First I went to the Pound. 

I had some difficulty in locating it, no one 
seeming to know anything about it. When I did 
find it, it was a sorry sight. In five large cages, 
all opening into one another, were dogs of all ages ; 
pointers, setters, Skyes, Spitz — underbread, over- 
bred and thoroughbred, fat and thin, peaceable and 
belligerent — in short, dogs “ of high and low de- 
gree and various description.” 

They were squirming around and howling so 
that it was a hard matter to get a good look at any 
particular one, but I took my time and convinced 
myself that there was nothing that resembled the 
lost Medje. 


63 


The atmosphere of the place was sickening. In 
addition to the doggy odor there was another pe- 
culiar smell as of burning matches. It made me 
cough. 

“ You had'better come outside/’ said the Pound- 
keeper, who looked like a jolly butcher; “it’s the 
charcoal and sulphur gets in your lungs.” 

“ Ah,” I said, “ you disinfect with it ? ” 

“ Yes,” he answered, “and smother.” 

“ Smother what ? ” 

“Dogs,” he said coolly, “after they has been 
here more’n ten days. What d’you s’pose we’d do 
with ’em?” 

This was more than I could answer, but a sud- 
den thought clutched me by the throat : 

“ Is there a dog being smothered now ? ” I 
faltered as I looked towards a close, high box, from 
the cracks of which issued whitish fumes. 

“ There’s just that very thing.” 

I turned deathly sick. “ What kind of a dog ? ” 
I managed to gasp. 

“ Jim,” called the Pound-keeper, “ whose turn 
was it ? ” 

“Jim,” with a pipe in his mouth, sauntered 
from a doorway near the entrance and went leis- 
urely to a piece of paper tacked on the wall. 


64 


“ Number 427,” he said and slouched back 
again. 

An awful presentiment seized me. u You must 
get that dog out,” I said eagerly. I was sure it was 
Medj6. Poor, poor Katherine ! 

“ Much good it ’ud do you now ; he’s ’sleep long 
’fore this. Say (with sudden interest) what kinder 
dog was your’n ? ” 

“ A Pug ; a thoroughbred English Pug.” 

“Jim,” he called once more, “ what kinder 
dog’s smotherin ’ ? ” 

Jim’s head appeared. “ Blackantan.” 

I gave a gasp. A leaden load seemed lifted from 
my heart. It was not Medje ; there might still be 
time ! 

The Pound-keeper seemed inclined to converse : 

“ There’s been several here that’s lost pugs. 
The stylishest turnout came only yesterday with a 
ladv, and, by George, if she didn’t have me bring 
out every last dog in the Pound for her to see ! ” 

“ And did she find the one she sought? ” 

“ No, she didn’t; I felt awful sorry for her.” 

“ Is there no other place where they take stray 
dogs ? ” 

“ There’s only two more Pounds, if that’s what 
you mean.” 


65 


“ Two more? I thought this was the only 
one.” 

The man laughed. “ This is the down-town 
one; then there’s the up-town and the one in the 
middle.” 

“ Are any of them as full as this? ” 

“ All ’bout the same. You see, this is a good 
season for stray dogs. While it snows they all 
creeps under places to get outer the weather, and 
as soon as the thaw comes they comes out to get 
somethin ’ to eat and the boys finds ’em an ’ ropes 
’em in.” 

This speech gave me hope. I took the ad- 
dresses of the other Pounds and left. 

I sought the nearest one and found it a repeti- 
tion of that I had just seen, with one exception. 
Instead of “ smotherin ’ ” they “ drowned,” so the 
keeper told me, adding : “ Much quicker than the 

way them fellers does down town and not half so 
cruel.” 

At the end of the row of cages was a tank filled 
with water. Over the tank was an arrangement 
like a gallows, with a rope attachment. At the 
end of this rope was a strong, iron hook. 

The first day a dog was brought to the Pound 
he occupied the first cage in the row; the second 


66 


day he was moved up one cage, and so on until he 
reached the last. This was smaller than the others 
and had an iron ring at the top. Here he remained 
until his time was up and then, if nobody claimed 
him, the iron hook made a close connection with 
the iron ring, enacting the “ last scene of all this 
strange, eventful history.” 

This Pound contained fully a hundred dogs. I 
carefully inspected every one of them. There was 
but one Pug in the whole lot, and it had a “jim- 
ber” jaw, very different from Medj^’s pert little 
muzzle. 

I was unable to calculate what cage Medje 
would have occupied had she been impounded, be- 
cause I did not know how long those boys might 
have waited before taking her there. I resolved 
that if, after inspecting the up-town Pound, there 
was no news I would go to the spot of my crime 
and interview every small boy in the neighbor- 
hood, regardless of consequences. 

The last address given me was Roderick’s livery 
stable, on Market Street, between Brook and 
Floyd. This locality, I well knew, was the Bowery 
of the town, and I was prepared for the second- 
hand stores and the flourishing array of nondescript 
signs that met my eye. 


67 




I found the stable without trouble, but a horse 
sale was in progress, and a crowd blocked the en- 
trance. One of the bystanders showed me a glass 
door, and said that if I passed through that into 
the office I would find the dogs in the rear. 

There were only about a dozen animals all told, 
and I quickly saw that the one I sought was not 
among them. 

“ Business appears to be dull here/’ I remarked 
to the man in charge. 

He looked as if he did not understand. 

u You haven’t half as many dogs as either of 
the other Pounds.” 

The man laughed. “ I should smile, Mister ; 
do you think this is our stock? These was all 
brung here this morning.” 

“ Where are the others?” 

“ About a square further up.” 

“ Why do you divide them?” 

“ You see, we haven’t room for all of them here, 
and Mr. Roderick has to have them brought to him 
first, so that he can enter them in his book. They 
only stay the day, and every night we takes ’em to 
the other place.” 

I obtained the number of the “ other place,” 
and prepared to depart. 


68 


As I passed through the office into the street 
my heart gave a great thump. There, standing in 
front of the crowded stable, was Miss Evans’s 
brougham and in it Miss Evans herself. 

Without thinking of all that had passed be- 
tween us, I rushed to the curbstone just as she was 
about to alight, exclaiming : 

“ Miss Katherine, this is no place for you ! 
Permit me — may I serve you in any way ? ” 

All those rough men were staring at my beauti- 
ful girl, the bargains in horseflesh for a time for- 
gotten. 

She turned to me haughtily : 

“ Mr. Atkinson,” she said, “ I have visited this 
Pound daily for more than a week and have always 
been treated with marked courtesy.” 

As she spoke I noticed that her lovely face had 
changed since I last saw her. It wore a sad look 
that was touching. 

“ Medje is not in there,” I said ; “ I have just 
been in to see.” 

She looked surprised. Her manner softened as 
she turned her clear eyes full upon me : 

“ Have you been troubling yourself about 
Medje? I thought — I was afraid you would re- 
joice when you heard she was gone.” 


69 


“Rejoice!” I exclaimed in unfeigned horror; 
“ why I have been so grieved over the loss of that 
dog that I have resolved to find her dead or alive ! ” 

I meant it. Whatever may have been my past 
sins, I now spoke the truth. 

At this the tears came into her eyes. Putting 
her hand in mine she said in a voice that thrilled 
me through and through : 

“Forgive me, dear friend, for the injustice I 
have done you,” and she hid her face in the corner 
of the carriage to conceal her emotion. 

Maybe you think I didn’t feel mean ? But I 
managed not to look so, and replied with great 
heartiness : 

“ From the bottom of my heart, if there is any- 
thing to forgive,” and then by way of changing a 
subject that was most painful I continued: “Shall 
we go to the real Pound and see if the dog is there ?” 

And to my surprise I learned that Katherine 
had not been informed of the night and day ar- 
rangement, but had been visiting this locality un- 
der the impression that it was the entire up-town 
Pound. 

She made me enter the carriage with her and I 
could hardly contain my satisfaction at being once 
more by her side. She was quiet, but I could see 
5 


70 


that the renewal of our friendship did not displease 
her. 

I wished that the Pound had been miles away 
instead of but one block, and the horses went so 
unnecessarily fast that it was no time at all before 
we stopped in front of the barber-shop, that was 
our destination. 

“ Let me get out first and investigate,” I said. 

But no. Miss Evans assured me that with such 
an escort she was not afraid to go anywhere. 

I could hardly believe my ears, but I controlled 
my feelings, and asked a negro to pilot us. 

Then my darling was ushered into a place that 
had never seen her like before, for we had to pass 
through a shop where several men were being 
shaved, and I do not know who showed the great- 
est embarrassment, Miss Evans or they. 

Our guide led us through a back door and we 
found ourselves in a brick alley-way between two 
houses. The snow was melting rapidly, and the 
narrow passage was covered with mud and slush. 
Dirty water dripped in steady streams from the 
gutters on the roofs overhead. 

“ I hate to bring you to such a place,” I said as 
apologetic as if I were responsible for its short- 
comings. 


71 


“ Pray do not worry about me/’ she replied ; and 
then she gathered up her dainty skirts and made the 
prettiest sort of a picture as she picked her way, 
stepping upon the tips of her toes. 

We emerged from the twilight of the passage 
and were once more in the open air. Then we 
passed through some back premises that were even 
worse than the alley, being dirty and malodorous. 
Already the yelping of many dogs informed us that 
our journey was nearly ended. 

Entering a wooden gate we saw a yard filled 
with cages, so we immediately went about our 
business. 

Carefully examining each animal we passed 
along the front and then continued our search on 
the opposite side. There were dogs by the dozen, 
all of them howling and making a terrible din. 

All at once Katherine stopped and clutched me 
by the arm. 

“ Listen,” she said. “ Surely that was Medj6’s 
bark ? ” 

I had to admit that I could not distinguish it. 

“ I am certain of it/’ she insisted. 

“ Call her,” I suggested. 

She obeyed : “ Medje ! Medj6 ! ” 

There was a second’s cessation of sound and 


72 


then a little wail headed the renewal of barks and 
howls. 

“ Was that her voice?” I asked incredulously, 
and guided by the sound I ran to a corner of the 
lot, Katherine following me. 

There we saw a fearful sight. 

A tank with the gallows attachment, such as 
I had seen at the other Pound, occupied an angle 
of the wall. Suspended from the iron hook was a 
cage full of dogs, and, as we neared it, the rope 
slipped over the pulleys with a creaking sound and 
dipped that cage into the water. 

It was impossible to distinguish its occupants — 
that is, I could not — but as it went under Kath- 
erine turned deathly white, and, pointing to it, her 
lips tried to frame some words, but instead she 
quietly fell up against me in a dead faint. 

In a second I grabbed the rope and shouted ex- 
citedly to the excutioners : 

“ Draw up that cage and wait ! ” 

They worked at the pulleys and soon had a lot 
of dripping and badly-scared dogs sputtering and 
gasping for air. 

But I had no time to look at them; my one 
thought was for my unconscious Katherine. I car- 
ried her under a shed and laid her upon some 


clean straw. I dashed water in her face and called 
her by every tender name that frantic love could 
suggest. 

Soon she opened her eyes. 

I hastened to reassure her : “ They are all 

safe ; not one shall be drowned, I promise you.” I 
was prepared to buy out the whole Pound if neces- 
sary, never dreaming it was possible that my dear- 
est had seen Medje in the cage. 

Katherine sat up and said : 

“ Bring her to me.” 

“ Whom shall I bring?” I asked. 

“ Medje, of course,” and she looked in the di- 
rection of the wet cage. 

I went to it and by putting my face close to 
the bars I could make out that one of the dogs was 
really a Pug, though it bore not the slightest re- 
semblance to the pampered pet, I so well remem- 
bered. 

Merely to ease my darling’s mind, I turned to 
one of the men and said : “ There’s a Pug dog in 

this cage ; won’t you let him out just to satisfy the 
lady?” 

He did so. 

With one bound a dripping, haggard, lean, hol- 
low-eyed, dirty little dog gave a howl of delight 
and rushed to Katherine. 


74 


The body was transformed, but there was no 
mistaking that recognition — it was Medje. 

All the men crowded around us with offers of 
assistance. One of them brought a glass of brandy, 
which I made my pallid darling taste, and it re- 
vived her wonderfully. As she could not begin to 
swallow the whole of it I poured the rest down the 
throat of a very moist dog. 

When my lady was able to walk it was a joyful 
procession that wended its way back through the 
mud and slush to the street. Miss Evans, not dis- 
daining assistance, permitted me to lift her into the 
carriage. 

I was for putting Medj6 up with the driver, but 
she said — Katherine, not Medj6 — “ No, both of you 
get in here.” 

We appreciated the honor and accepted the in- 
vitation. 

The drive home was the sweetest episode of my 
life. As if to atone for all my past mortification 
Medje was an active factor in the final event that 
crowned the day’s happenings. 

All wet as she was, she insisted upon occupying 
Katherine’s lap. The intelligent animal almost 
talked, she was so happy. She looked up to her 
mistress’ face, uttering funny little sounds that were 


75 


plainly words of rapture, ending in a most evident 
attempt to kiss Miss Evans right on her mouth. 

“ If I were to do that/’ I was bold enough to 
say, “ you would be perfectly furious.” 

The peerless Katherine looked at me with eyes 
that were like two incandescent lights : 

“ How do you know so much ? ” she asked ; 
“ you never tried.” 




76 


The Bursting of the Chrysalis. 


O^HE was looking at herself in a way that she 
had never looked before, and all because a 
stranger had let fall a few words in passing. 

He had merely said : 

“ What a lovely girl l ” And she had sought 
a mirror and was wondering if he spoke the truth, 
for she was barely sixteen. 

The mirror was non-committal, but the fact 
was she foretold, though she did not yet possess 
the bloom that comes to a girl a few months later, 
that indescribable softness belonging exclusively to 
youthful maidenhood ; often seen in even the plain- 
est of girls, but as fleeting as the wind. 

There is nothing that this bloom resembles so 
much as the downy surface of the filling grape — a 
finger touch disturbs and destroys it, and then 
nothing can ever restore it, though the fruit within 
may remain sweet and luscious. 


77 


This same Helena had many ideas that were 
never suspected bv the older people with whom she 
lived ; unexplained mysteries for which she sought 
the solution ; surmises and conjectures belonging 
exclusively to unsullied childhood. 

Though she looked forward to it, marriage 
meant nothing to her. She could see nothing in- 
teresting in married people, and none of them were 
ever young, only old and settled. That is, all except 
brides with lovely new clothes ; there was some- 
thing romantic about brides. 

But as for lovers, that was another thing. 

She read of love, she dreamed of love, she had 
an imaginary lover that was all romance and heroic 
devotion. She cut love poems from the newspapers 
and pasted them in her scrap-book. There was one 
of these last that she thought exquisite, although it 
was perfectly shocking, and she wouldn’t have ad- 
mitted that she liked it for anything on earth. 

It was entitled ; “ A Bridegroom to His Sleep- 
ing Bride,” and it made little blushes and thrills 
and chills go over her even to think of it. She 
tried to forget it, but some of the words would re- 
cur to her, especially in the early morning, as she 
lay awake, fresh and fragrant after the night’s 
slumber. 


78 


“ Sleep, dearest, sleep ; thy tangled hair 
Flows softly over thy bosom bare. 

Nought but thy lover's eye is near — " 

The idea was too lovely ! this vision of the 
watchful lover, and she “ tangled her hair 5 ' and 
pretended she was the sleeping bride. 

But she caught sight of herself in the mirror, 
and this time it told her something, and it made her 
shudder in dismay as she thought how wicked she 
was to harbor such thoughts. 

It was while she was in this unreal, expectant 
state that she met him. She only sixteen ; he, 
forty-two. A foreigner — a Prussian — how perfect- 
ly delightful ! Taller than her handsome, eldest 
brother; with blue eyes that were sometimes a 
glittering grey and a well-shaped head- covered 
with close-curling hair. She could hardly remove 
her gaze from his straight nose, that looked as if a 
square cut had been chiseled from the end of it, 
and she liked the way it moved with every word 
he uttered. 

She had never noticed anybody's nose do that 
before. 

The man had been a soldier, but now that 
France was beaten he was forced to select some 
means of livelihood. Gentleman, soldier, poet,. 


79 


singer — Captain von Cassel, after trying many 
arts, concluded to give lessons in vocal music, and 
came with letters to Helena’s aristocratic and in- 
fluential family. 

He met Helena’s eldest sister, Margaret, and 
this young lady invited him to her father’s house, 
where his music was made a prominent feature of 
the evening. 

The half-grown girl sat unnoticed and watched 
him from her corner as he talked to the guests and 
entertained them with songs, to which he had writ- 
ten both words and music. 

He was asked to test the girls’ voices. 

Margaret did not impress him, but a something 
opened Helena’s throat and such glorious tones had 
never before echoed through those rooms. Un- 
tutored they were, to be sure, but clear and bril- 
liant as a young bird’s. An ecstasy of melody and 
sweetness that surprised the singer as much as it 
did her listeners. 

That night Helena dreamed of the soldier-poet 
— his tones, his looks, his gestures. When she de- 
scended in the morning her weary look attracted 
attention. 

“ Late hours do not agree with you,” said her 
father, pinching her pale cheek; “or was it too 
much singing ?” 


80 


“ Not the last, I am sure, she hastened to reply. 
“ I enjoyed the music immensely. Are you going 
to let us take lessons from Captain yon Cassel?” 

Helena’s parent had been pleased at the tri- 
umph of the night before and the stranger’s com- 
ments on his daughter’s voice. He had decided 
to place her under his tuition, but he thought he 
would tease her a little ; so he said : 

“ I fear I cannot afford it ; money is pretty 
scarce, now-a-days.” 

“ Please, papa, dear, does he ask so very much ? 
I want, above all things, to learn to sing well. 
Let me give up something else, won’t you ?” 

“What, for instance? Would you do without 
new frocks, and pay the expense out of your al- 
lowance ?” 

“I would rather give up every cent of it than 
not learn to sing. What are his terms?” 

“ Well, I haven’t inquired the exact figures, 
but I hardly think there is enough money to pay 
for the cultivation of that voice of yours.” 

“You darling papa! You are trying to fool 
me — you are going to let us have lessons.” 

“ I must confess, I am not anxious,” said Mar- 
garet. “ He scared me to death. I don’t believe 
I could ever sing for that man.” 


81 


“You will have to try,” responded her parent, 
“ for I have entered both of you, and you are to 
begin work immediately.” 

And with this beginning came a new life for 
Helena. The progress in Amice culture* was rapid 
and marked. 

But apt as was the pupil in that branch, far 
more surprising developments took place in other 
directions. The conversant man of the world was 
fascinated by the school girl ; her freshness, her in- 
nocence, her inexperience — all appealed to him ir- 
resistibly. Before he realized it she was monopo~ 
lizing his thoughts. Her physical beauty bewitched 
his senses, and his poet’s nature reveled in her 
guileless impressibility. Without thought of con- 
sequences he allowed himself to drift. 

The singing lessons were delightful episodes in 
which there was no element of labor, and time 
flew by. 

One day he happened to be coming out of his 
lodgings as she passed on her way to college, and 
he joined her. 

She was fluttered by the rencontre, though she 
tried to seem cool and self-possessed. Her great 
inward delight was increased by the final triumph 
of seeing the girls peeping through the shutters at 


82 


her handsome escort, as he told her good morning 
at the door. 

The next day her toilette was expectantly care- 
ful. The crisp green and white muslin, the straw 
hat with its pink roses framing her blushing face, 
made as sweet a picture as one could wish to see. 
Few could be insensible to her beauty as she passed 
up the street that warm June morning, and many 
turned to look at her. 

No item of her appearance was lost on the Cap- 
tain, as he joined her and asked in his gravely 
courteous manner if he might repeat the pleasure 
of the previous day. 

These precedents formed a habit. Ah, those 
morning walks ! The summer breezes, the dewy 
freshness of the flower-like girl, the heightening 
color in the soft cheek — whither was it tending? 

Were Helena’s parents aware how much of her 
time was now spent in the newcomer’s society? 
They made him welcome at their house ; he was 
agreeable; his manners were refined and polished. 
As the two girls always took their lessons together, 
propriety was satisfied. 

Her mother surely never heard one of the 
many compliments he was in the habit of paying 
her, nor could she have ever seen the look that 


83 



unconsciously came into her young daughter’s 
eyes as they rested on the man. 

But of this look the man was only too cog- 
nizant; and had Helena known a little more of the 
world’s ways, she would have realized how often 
her feelings were tested and experimented upon 
by her friend. 

All this time character was being formed. Some 
emotions were being developed in an alarmingly 
rapid manner, while others — relics of dying child- 
hood — were fading away. 

At first too diffident and shy to think she could 
ever claim his serious affection, by degrees hope 
was born in this maiden’s heart. She could see 
that he singled her out for marked attentions ; she 
could no longer be blind to the pleasure he took 
in her society. 

Her love song had found words. No more 
dreaming of love — the real lover, surpassing her 
dearest hopes, had come. Nature had intended her 
for him ; she was his from the first. Would he 
claim his own ? 

But here, something made her despair. She 
was ready for a declaration that never came. At 
times he seemed on the point of telling her his 
love, but he never did. Often in the midst of 


84 


moods that were passionately tender he would sud- 
denly check himself and become gloomy and silent. 

This puzzled Helena, but she never once 
doubted his uprightness. Though his character 
and his actions were enigmatical, there was some- 
thing about the man that inspired trust. 

Helena’s saving grace was pride. It was pride 
that controlled her emotions in spite of their in- 
tensity ; that made her hide her heartaches and 
stifle her yearnings. She was naturally of a lofty 
mind and knowing no evil, thought none. Too 
shy to betray herself, too fond to criticise, she re- 
veled in the false paradise of loving in secret. As 
we have elsewhere intimated she regarded marriage 
as a prosy, vague sort of an affair; the finis and an 
uninteresting one at that. All she wished was her 
dream of love, and this one seemed pure and sweet. 

The adept lover, seeing through and through 
her soul, yielded to the fascination of her beautiful 
presence, without committing himself by words. 

And the bud, blossoming into fairest flower 
under his quickening personality, was but an epi- 
sode in his eventful life. 

But be this thing deary understood : 

Whatever he let her infer from looks or actions 
his behaviour could not have been more respectful 


85 


to his own sister, and never once did he overstep 
the limits of strict propriety. 

But his moods were changeable. After some 
particular evidence of devotion, a reaction would 
come ; as if he repented anv excess of tenderness 
and wished to efface it from her mind. He would 
then become instantly reserved and distant. At 
times a hard, black look overshadowed his face and 
he appeared reckless and discouraged. And this, 
Helena attributed to his poor success at earning a 
livelihood and strove to cheer and brighten him in 
every artless way 

But time was flying and such affairs never stand 
still. To be sure, the girl was contented with ex- 
isting conditions, but the man was becoming more 
and more dissatisfied. To him self-control grew 
harder every day. 

Then came a climax. 

Margaret was one day indisposed and Helena 
took her lesson alone. She was learning an im- 
passioned love song. Into the words she threw all 
the fervor of her heart. Her young voice rang out 
and the meaning of its intense tones could not be 
disguised. 

“ Thee only, thee only have I loved — 

Loved with a true devotion — ” 

6 


86 


As he gazed at her, Captian von Cassel lost his 
head. Had it not been that his part of the duet 
gave vent to his emotions, he must have burst all 
restraint, and taking her in his arms, have poured 
out his soul to her. 

But Helena looked at him with those beautiful, 
trusting eyes, and he conquered himself, and left 
her abruptly. 

The instant recognition of this delicacy and 
self-abnegation was to Helena the sweetest sensation 
she had ever known. 

“He is too scrupulous to bind me to an indefinite 
engagement,” she thought ; “ so he is waiting until 
his prospects brighten.” 

From that day there was no need of words. 

But with a certain morning came a change ; 
and the cause of the change was a letter that he 
received written in the German language, and with 
the letter a photograph. 

Long he gazed at the face — that of a young * 
girl, Helena’s age. Not beautiful like her, but 
wearing the same unmistakeable look of sweet girl- 
hood that only innocence can show. A blank page 
awaiting its inscription. fy 

A sudden thought struck him. Was this girl 
exposed to temptations like other girls ? 


87 


Why uot ? 

Perhaps at that moment some fascinating man 
of the world, old enough to be her father, was mis- 
leading her ! 

He groaned : 

“ I have gloated in my power over women ; 
will retribution come this way ? But no — I have 
done no harm ; that is, no incurable harm. I will 
not be a villian. I will stop while there is time.” 

He thought deeply. He clinched his hands 
and made a resolve. He would begin to-day — 
now— to undue his work, as gently as possible, but 
effectually. 

As a first step towards the new order of things 
he remained at home and did not join Helena on 
her way to her classes. But when the hour ap- 
proached, he could not forbear looking from his 
window to see her as she passed. That could do no 
harm. 

Her graceful figure came in sight ; the dainty 
draperies fluttering, as he knew the heart beneath 
them fluttered. He sighed and almost weakened, 
but turned resolutely away. 

Helena passed a day of restless anxiety. For 
the first twenty-four hours since the beginning of 
their acquaintanceship she had failed to see him. 


88 


Something must have occurred and she waited, sick 
at heart, to hear, she knew not what. 

The next morning he was still absent and in 
trepidation she longed for the hour of the singing 
lesson. If he did not come then she must find out 
what dreadful thing had happened. She resolved 
not to be deterred by any silly scruples, but to for- 
get herelf in her concern for her lover. Was he 
not her life ? 

The suspense was terrible, and under it she 
drooped. Forebodings agitated her. 

The hour of the lesson approached. Would he 
come ? 

She had hardly time to despair when he was 
announced. Her night changed to day and shed- 
ding radiance under the revival of hope, she went 
into his presence. 

But what was it? An instant something 
quenched her happiness. There was nothing tangi- 
ble to which one could give expression, neverthe- 
less, when the lessons were ended and he had gone, 
Helena fled to her room and wept the bitterest 
tears of her life. 

A change was there. Carefully she reviewed 
her conduct during their last walk. Had she 
offended him? 


89 


She went over every incident of the lesson. 
She could not define it, but there it was; a some- 
thing that had come between them. 

She was too proud to seek an explanation. She 
would wait — and trust. 

The next morning his tall form awaited her on 
the crossing. She beamed on him. He was hag- 
gard and gray-looking. 

“ Have you been ill ? she asked in tender 
concern. 

“ Yes ; I must have been imprudent. A cough 
wdth which I was once afflicted has returned most 
inopportunely.” 

“ You must take it in time ; don't let it get any 
headway.” 

“ I know it of old — ” here he coughed, actor 
as he w T as. “ I greatly fear I shall not be able 
to stand the severity of your winter ; I am think- 
ing of going South.” 

At this Helena turned a face of grief towards 
him and it almost unmanned him. He dropped 
his eyes unable to meet her gaze. 

Then the first doubt of him entered the young 
girl's mind. 

This sudden cough — why had he not mentioned 
it before ? He had often referred to his health as 


90 


perfect. He was equivocating, and it nearly broke 
her heart. 

She said nothing and her manner was frigid as 
she parted from him 

That night at supper her father said : “ I hear 
you are going to lose your teacher? Captain von 
Cassel was in to see me to-day and he tells me he 
has to leave. It is provoking just as both of you 
were advancing so nicely.” 

Helena forced herself to reply : “ He says he 
cannot stand our winter.” 

“ It is a curious thing,” pursued her parent, 
“ how these healthy looking people may be con- 
sumptive and no one ever suspect it. Von Cassel 
says that he has had two or three hemorrhages in 
his life, and has to be most careful.” 

“ When does he go ? ” asked Margaret. 

“ About the last of the month. It’s a pity, for 
I had managed to give him a good start, and I do 
not see how the poor fellow will get along if his 
health breaks down. He hasn’t a penny on earth.” 

Helena suddenly felt old ; she never remem- 
bered being young or light-hearted. She tried to 
keep up appearances, and for two days acted an 
excruciatingly difficult role. 


91 


Then the mist cleared and she became the same 
as ever. Quick as a flash, out of her brooding had 
come the solution to the enigma. Why hadn’t she 
thought of it before ! He was leaving her because 
he could not stand the restraint any longer. Deli- 
cacy and loyalty to her father who had so materi- 
ally assisted him, forbade his speech. The cough 
was a subterfuge. She would accept it and would 
trust him with her whole heart and then when he 
was in a position to claim her he would find her 
unchanged. 

So, in spite of grief at the prospect of parting, 
she was happy once more. When von Cassel 
joined her the next morning he was piqued at her 
radiant appearance and looked black indeed in re- 
sponse to her cheerful greeting. 

He had an enigma to solve in his turn. 

Her thought opened like a page to his adroit- 
ness, and when in her childishness she unconscious- 
ly betrayed it, he became gloomier and blacker 
than ever. 

“ Have I not read her aright ?” he reflected in 
anguish. “ Must I strike a still harder blow? ” 

Then he saw that he was in danger of weaken- 
ing. He resolved on decisive action. u I will kill 
all thought of me and leave forthwith ! ” 


92 


That night he called on her, and with his card 
sent up a little note : 

“ Am obliged to leave to-morrow. May I see 
you alone for a few minutes? ” 

This message found Helena in a state of eager 
excitement. Her brother was going to take her to 
her first opera ; she was to wear her first ‘grande 
toilette ’, and hear the greatest j orima donna in the 
world. 

This anticipation diverted her mind, and when 
she entered the library she was a vision of youth 
and loveliness; a timid consciousness of the fact 
lent a new archness to her manner and made her 
doubly charming. 

To all but a lover she would have appeared 
carelessly happy, but his quickened sense recog- 
nized an undercurrent of feeling, and it caused him 
to catch his breath like a man in danger. 

He gave a fictitious reason for an abrupt depar- 
ture. 

“ Shall I see you again before you go, or is this 
‘ au revoir f ” she asked. 

“ This is my last visit,” he answered, “ and it 
is not ‘ au revoir ’ but ‘ good-bye .’ 99 

“ That sounds as if you never intended to re- 
turn,’’ she rejoined lightly. 

“ I hope, never.” 


93 


At this the lovely color fled. “ I do not under- 
stand.” 

Her mouth quivered a little. 

He quickly said, “ Don’t look that way ! I am 
not worth it. You have been good to me and I — 
I can say nothing of my feeling.” 

Her face brightened : “ I understand you now,” 
she said. 

He struggled fiercely. “ No, you do not under- 
stand. I have no right to be here — to look at you 
as I am looking now.” 

Some infatuation possessed her. She raised her 
eyes to his and said earnestly : “ You have the 
right for I — ” 

“ No, no ! ” he interrupted. “ I have no right ! 
I am going from you forever, and you must promise 
not to think of me when I am gone, for you will 
never see me again ! ” 

Helena caught her breath. “ What can you 
mean ? ” 

“ You make it so hard for me,” he groaned. 
“ You stand there looking so pure and beautiful — 
how dare I tell you the truth ? ” 

Helena drew herself up. “ Do you wish me to 
understand that nothing is possible between us? 
(Sarcastically) “ Is that the terrible truth ?” 


94 


“That is it/’ lie said, and at the words, Evil, 
who still had hopes of conquering, left the man. 

She persisted — she must know all. “You have 
made me believe you love me, and you do not?” 
Her control was marvelous. 

“ I do not ! ” His voice was hoarse and unnat- 
ural. “ Child, you are young and susceptible, and 
men are vain and wicked ; how wicked, you do not 
guess. Can you ever forgive me for trifling with 
you ? ” 

“Trifling? Is that what you call it?” Her 
disdain was quite apparent. 

“ He answered eagerly : “ That is right. De- 
spise me, for it is best. I have allowed myself to 
become interested in you ; how interested I am not 
free to say.” 

“ You are not free?” 

“ No — O Helena — I must out with it ! I can 
no longer deceive you ; I should have told you at 
first.” 

“ What should you have told me?” 

“That I am a married man. See, this is my 
daughter’s picture. She is just your age, and her 
mother — well though I have not seen her for years, 
she is my wife until death parts us.” 


95 


Helena mechanically took the picture. The girl’s 
calm, innocent eyes looked into her own. For a 
moment she was ghastly and tottering, then a re- 
vulsion of feeling brought the color back into he r 
face. She looked like a haughty queen. 

“ And you fear this disclosure will affect me 
seriously ? ” 

“ I — I — surely not — I trust not.” 

“You do think so. But let me tell you,” she 
said proudly, “ that I shall not pine for you one mo- 
ment. I will not let myself, for I will hate you ! ” 

“ Some day you will understand men; you will 
know what I have suffered, and then you will not 
hate me.” 

“ Perhaps ; is it worth while talking of the 
future ? I think you have come to say, ‘ Good- 
bye ! 9 99 

He hardly knew her, her manner was so self- 
possessed. 

“ Good-bye ; won’t you give me your hand?” 

“ I would rather not.” She looked towards the 
door. 

At this he bowed and passed out. 

It was time, for in great relief she sank pant- 
ing on a sofa. 


96 


In the hall she heard her brother’s step. 

“ Helena/’ he called, “ are you ready ? ” 

She controlled herself. “Come, see how fine I 
look/’ she said gaily. 

“ Upon my word, you are fine ! I hardly recog- 
nize you. It’s wonderful how clothes can change 
one — you look like a full-fledged woman of the 
world.” 







































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